She was very pale, but dry-eyed.
To the doctor she seemed unnaturally composed.
No word was exchanged, and they set out in silence down the road.
When they arrived at the mortuary Mrs. Davidson spoke.
"Let me go in and see him alone."
They stood aside.
A native opened a door for her and closed it behind her.
They sat down and waited.
One or two white men came and talked to them in undertones.
Dr. Macphail told them again what he knew of the tragedy.
At last the door was quietly opened and Mrs. Davidson came out. Silence fell upon them.
"I`m ready to go back now," she said.
Her voice was hard and steady.
Dr. Macphail could not understand the look in her eyes.
Her pale face was very stern.
They walked back slowly, never saying a word, and at last they came round the bend on the other side of which stood the ir house.
Mrs. Davidson gave a gasp, and for moment they stopped still.
An incredible sound assaulted their ears.
The gramophone which had been silent for so long was playing, playing ragtime loud and harsh.
"What`s that?" cried Mrs. Macphail with horror.
"Let`s go on," said Mrs. Davidson.
They walked up the steps and entered the hall.
Miss Thompson was standing at her door, chatting with a sailor.
A sudden change had taken place in her.
She was no longer the cowed drudge of the last days.
She was dressed in all her finery, in her white dress, with the high shiny boots over which her fat legs bulged in their cotton stockings; her hair was elaborately arranged; and she wore that enormous hat covered with gaudy flowers.
Her face was painted, her eyebrows were boldly black, and her lips were scarlet.
She held herself erect.
She was the flaunting quean that they had known at first.
As they came in she broke into a loud, jeering laugh; and then, when Mrs. Davidson involuntarily stopped, she collected the spittle in her mouth and spat.
Mrs. Davidson cowered back, and two red spots rose suddenly to her cheeks.
Then, covering her face with her hands, she broke away and ran quickly up the stairs.
Dr. Macphail was outraged.
He pushed past the woman into her room.
"What the devil are you doing?" he cried.
"Stop that, damned machine."
He went up to it and tore the record off.
She turned on him. "Say, doc, you can that stuff with me.
What the hell are you doin` in my room? "
"What do you mean?" he cried.
"What d`you mean?"
She gathered herself together.
No one could describe the scorn of her expression or the contemptuous hatred she put into her answer.
"You men!
You filthy, dirty pigs!
You`re all the same, all of you.
Pigs!
Pigs!"
Dr. Macphail gasped.
He understood.